You Rev My Engine
by atheistapplecats
Summary: Harry Potter turns to his childhood memories to cope with the tragedy that surrounds his life... and discovers a passion hidden deep within!
1. Midnight Practice

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a work in progress, so stay tuned! It might start off slow, but I promise the action will heat up soon enough! I'm doing my best to keep this pairing canon, because we should all treat J.K. Rowling's characters with the respect they deserve, neh? ^_^~~; After all, they're her characters... I'm just borrowing them! ^o^

Harry steadied his nerves and took in a sharp breath. To think after so long, his dreams would finally be realized... well, it was quite exhilarating. And yet, at the same time, there was a sickening fear in his stomach. Transfiguration magic is no easy feat, especially when applied to one's own body. The slightest misstep, the briefest moment of distraction and the complex spell required to complete the transformation would be disrupted, leaving the caster stuck as a hellish abomination trapped between forms. A skilled Animagus might not have any problem with the task, but Harry was a mere sixth-year, a novice in the arts of magic... and besides, he mused... he was pretty sure that no one had attempted a spell quite like this in the history of wizardkind.

Sensing his will faltering, Harry thought and drew upon the very memories that prompted him to even attempt the perilous task. His soulful green eyes shut and his breathing became shallow as he concentrated on the cherished experience. The Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Dreamed and the deserted classroom dissolved into the sweet release of childhood recollections. The scene was 15 years prior, in the frigid air of northern England. The dark wizard known as Voldemort had murdered James and Lily a scarce couple of hours earlier, but the infant Harry was not afraid. He rested contentedly in Hagrid's arms, who was straddling the flying motorbike belonging to Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Despite having witnessed the spectacle of his parents' death, Harry was at ease: the comforting vibrations of the bike lulled him into a state of ecstasy. His tiny, unformed mind couldn't fully comprehend it, but the bike beneath him felt so... powerful... and... strong. How could he be afraid?

Harry's eyes snapped open as he returned to the present. He knew what he had to do. Focusing all of his desire into a single, brilliant spark, the Potter boy raised his wand and muttered an incantation. He shuddered violently with anticipation, and then turned to face the mirror. Reflected within its glassy plane was... an ordinary teenage wizard. Once again, he had failed. There was still some component to the spell that was missing. Harry swore angrily and kicked his mirror image, turning the bottom half of the doppleganger into a spiderweb of fractures. He sat on the cold wooden floor and rubbed his eyes.

"Think, Harry, think" the young man muttered to himself. "What did Professor McGonagall say about self-transfiguration?"

Harry strained and searched his memory, going over every lecture, every boring, early morning lesson for some scrap of useful information he had overlooked. Suddenly, a creak of the floorboards interrupted his reverie. Someone was in the hallway.

There was no excuse for being out of the common room this late, especially in a deserted classroom with a vandalized mirror. He would have a lot of explaining to do if one of the Prefects caught him sitting amongst the broken slivers of what looked to be a rather expensive goblin-made antique. Harry couldn't afford discovery, not this early. Not when there was still so much work to do. He scrambled across the room and slipped on his trusty Invisibility Cloak. The cool fabric slid over his bare arms and he quickly faded from view. Whoever the mysterious interloper was, the sound of Harry's flight had given them pause, and they had not chosen to enter the room.

"Perhaps they didn't see me," thought Harry. "Then there should still be time to get back in my dorm before they choose to investigate further." It was too risky to continue practicing tonight, so Harry ducked out the back door of the dusty room and set off toward the Griffindor dorms.


	2. Summer Reading

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! ^o^ Ready for chapter two? We're starting to get away from the setup and into the actual meat of the plot now! A big shout out and thanks to all you subscribers out there! Who would have guessed I had so many fans? ^_^;; *blushes* Speaking of blushes, stick around, because this is gonna heat up fast! x)

Harry blearily rubbed his eyes. It was late morning, he could tell that much by the deserted state of his dorm. Rolling clumsily to his feet, Harry searched the room for some clean clothes. After hastily throwing on a navy-blue robe and a sweater, he rushed downstairs to the Great Hall, where he found his fellow Gryffindors partaking in a hearty breakfast. "Hey, thanks for waking me up," Harry remarked snidely as he pulled up a chair next to Hermione.

"Mmm," grunted Ron in between spoonfuls of porridge. Ron's hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes, but before Harry could think too deeply about this, Hermione interrupted.

"It's not Ron's responsibility to get you up in the morning, Harry. Come on, you're a sixth-year now, start acting like it! Normally, Harry would have shot back a retort, but not today. He needed a favor from the bookish witch, and in order to do that, he needed to remain on her good side. "I suppose you're right. Sorry Ron."

Ron looked slightly startled at the uncharacteristically subdued response, but managed to grunt his acceptance nonetheless. Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She had noticed it too, but said nothing.

"Pass me a roll, would you, Neville?" asked Harry quickly to divert their focus elsewhere. This wasn't the place to ask a favor of this magnitude, anyway. Too many nosy students, not to mention the occasional passing professor. Harry didn't need talk getting around; he already had a difficult time sneaking out of the tower as it was. If someone were to come across his midnight practices, it could be... awkward, to say the least. Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a loud splash and a shriek from the girl sitting next to Neville. The lanky boy had dropped the requested food in her vegetable soup and was now apologetically trying to fish it out with his hands. He grinned sheepishly at Harry as he held up the soup-soaked roll. Harry sighed and accepted Neville's proffered bread product and sat back in his chair. He might as well get a good breakfast while he was here. Since Harry shared nearly all of his classes with Hermione, there would be an opportunity to talk later. He just had to be patient.

-------

The opportunity came several hours later as the trio exited their Charms lesson. Having overindulged himself at lunch, Ron now took the opportunity to avail himself of Hogwarts' magically pristine bathrooms. As soon as he was out of earshot, Harry turned to Hermione and casually asked, "Say, Hermione, what do you know about Self-Transfiguration?"

The curly-haired witch snorted. She knew just as well as Harry that no field of magic was beyond her expertise. "I know about it... in theory, at least. The textbooks are full of examples of famous Animagi."

"That's not exactly what I was wondering about," replied Harry. "Have there ever been wizards that turned themselves into... inanimate... objects?"

"Harry, what exactly are you doing?" asked Hermione. "Is this for another stupid prank on Drac-"

"No no no," Harry assured her. "This is for a paper for McGonagall."

"Really?" Hermione gave Harry a skeptical look. "Because I'm in your Transfiguration class, and I don't remember h-"

"It's extra credit!" he interrupted hastily. "I failed the last exam, so she's giving me a chance to make up some points with a research paper." Hermione didn't seem convinced, but her loyalty won out over her prudence. Hermione rolled her eyes and dug in her bag for a pen and parchment.

"I can recommend a couple of books, I guess. It's very difficult magic though. Only the most dedicated wizards have ever managed it." She handed him the ink-stained scrap. "Most of them are pretty old, historical texts and such. It hasn't really been attempted in modern times." Harry snatched the paper out of her hands eagerly.

"Thanks Hermione, you're the best!" He grinned as he shoved the parchment into the folds of his robes. There were still a couple of minutes before Potions. Just enough time to pay a quick visit to the library without attracting attention. Harry turned and headed toward the library, starting to jog down the corridor before Hermione called out to him: "I hope you'll tell me what you're _really_ doing later, Harry!"

"Don't count on it," muttered Harry. They had confronted unspeakable evils and unimaginable dangers together, but how could he explain _this_ one?


	3. Rapture

Harry swore as the ancient textbook tumbled from his hands, clouds of dust billowing from the cobblestone steps as it fell down the staircase. The young wizard quickly pressed himself flat against the wall of the stairwell and listened. Although his Invisibility Cloak would keep him hidden from sight, Harry's possession had become legendary at Hogwarts, and any of the night guardians who heard a commotion in a seemingly empty hallway would no doubt check for invisible interlopers.

After waiting what seemed like an eternity, Harry unfroze and continued his descent, the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and retreived the book he had dropped, "Transcending the Self: Self-Transfiguration for Novices." The battered, dog-eared text had been one of the ones Hermoine had recommended to him the previous week. Much to Harry's surprise, the books had proven to be an invaluable resource. What had once seemed like an impossibly far off dream was now becoming a reality - every night, Harry's transformation was becoming more and more complete as his mastery over the spell increased.

"Tonight's the night, I can feel it," Harry whispered, his passions overwhelming the need for secrecy. With that fortuitous thought in mind, the young wizard closed the remaining distance and came up to a battered oaken door. Harry reached out with an invisible arm and slowly pushed the door to the deserted classroom open.

The room was dark, illuminated only by a few silvery shafts of moonlight that filtered through the window. A thick layer of dust covered nearly everything in the room, the only sign of recent habitation being the shattered slivers of the goblin mirror. Apart from that sole article of furniture, the room was empty. This, of course, was perfect for Harry's needs - a motorcycle is not a small object, after all.

Harry glanced furitively behind him and then entered the room, forcing himself to walk quietly over the protests of his giddy heart. At long last, he would truely know the feeling of being a white 1959 Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville motorbike. A part of him had always longed for this, ever since that fateful night fifteen years ago. To Harry, this was less of a transformation and more of a realization of his true self. It was as if he could feel the vehicle inside of him thrumming with power and grace, tires squealing in protest at being contained in such a frail human body.

Harry set the textbook down on the floor of the classroom and shrugged off his Invisibility Cloak. It was time for the preparations. "Silencio," Harry whispered in a barely audible tone. The air was filled with the sensation of static as the charm rushed to fill every corner of the classroom. After he was certain the charm had taken effect, Harry knocked experimentally on one of the walls. The air remained dead silent. Next, the teenage wizard flipped through the pages of "Transcending the Self," searching for the relevant chapter.

While he had never been one for formal learning, Harry had to admit, the decrepit tome read like it had been written for him. "You are not as you appear," he muttered, reading out loud. "There is another you, one that nature has not seen fit to bestow upon this world. Take back what has been denied you! With your power, claim what is rightfully yours," he continued, voice rising to a feverish excitement. At the peak of his frenzy, Harry ceased reading from the textbook and instead shouted the incantation for Transfiguration.

The world blurred before him as his body began to restructure itself. Arms and legs stretched, becoming axles. His hands and feet joined and ballooned outward, their tone darkening as they transmuted to rubber. His skin took on a metallic sheen as his flesh gave way to polished steel. This was normally where the spell gave out, his magical energies insufficient for the task, but he noted with excitement that the changes showed no sign of stopping or even slowing down. They became deeper, internal as his organs became pistons and internal combustion engines. The world took on a yellowish hue - he was no longer seeing through human eyes, but headlights. The magical force of Transfiguration intervened where reality protested, sustaining Harry's life force in the intermediate stages between man and machine. And then, with the roar of machinery and the scent of gasoline, it was finished.

Harry experimentally turned his front wheel, learning the feel of his new body. It felt good. No, it felt better than good, it felt right. Like he had felt upon first learning of the magical world - a fundamental wrong in the universe had been corrected. Harry surged with power and leapt forward with all 46 horsepower, estatically kicking up dust as he did donuts in the center of the room.

With a satisfied honk, Harry drove over to the shattered mirror to get a good look at the effects of the spell. As the dust cleared, two forms took shape in the reflection - a white motorcycle, and the astonished image of Ron Weasley. 


End file.
